Weathermen are liars.
Last night, we went to bed with the idea that it would be another nice, if slightly cloudy, day. All of the news stations said that. All of the weathermen said that. However, it's about eight in the morning when Mom's phone alarm goes off. However, we don't notice the insane beeping—just the downpour that's going on outside our small apartment, and the lightening that's accompanying it. I don't really like storms. Mom apparently doesn't either, because she calls in, saying she's not going to leave me with such a storm (even though I can handle it). "One of the perks of owning a business: you can control your work days," she says.
Instead of our usual routine, she dubs it a lazy day and doesn't even get out of her pajamas. We proceed to move to the couch, where we watch movies, eat junk food (well, that's more her deal—I can't handle that much), and keep everything light and cozy. After yesterday, I think we need some sort of rest day.
An average knock interrupts us, which, not going to lie, annoys me. I sit up with a grumble as Mom tosses on her robe. She walks over to the door, looks through the peephole, and then looks back, her eyes even more gigantic than they usually are. She huffs and opens the door. "Hi, Detective Olivia. Uh, come in—I'll get you a towel."
As promised, Detective Olivia walks in, looking like a soaking wet, shaggy puppy. I'm now on full alert—obviously Mom didn't know about this, so why is she here? I wave a little, just so I'm not sitting there like an idiot. She waves back. "How're you doing, Rose?"
I swallow hard; I'm not sure what to say. My fits can't get Mom in any trouble, can they? God, what if they can? I better just play it off as everything being perfect. "I'm good."
Mom comes back with a few towels and hands them to Marrissa. She looks absolutely terrified.
"Is everything alright?" I ask before I can actually think about it. I probably wouldn't have said it if I would've thought about it.
She laughs as she dries out her hair. "Yes. It's just part of my job to do random follow ups. I came over yesterday, but you weren't home."
"We were looking for a bigger apartment," Mom says, suddenly a lot more calm. "She needs her own bedroom."
Marrissa smiles. "Yeah. That's a good idea…I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."
Mom sits down and gestures for she to do the same. "Nah. I just figured that it was raining, so I told my workers I wouldn't be there; I don't really want to make my dad get out in this mess to stay with her. Plus, now I can stay at home and have a nice, long lazy day."
"That sounds nice. So…How's everything been?"
Mom shrugs. "I think it's going pretty well. She had a seizure yesterday, so she's a bit under the weather."
"Seizure?"
"We think she has epilepsy. We've got an appointment with a neurologist next week to look into it more."
"Okay. Have either of you went into the counselor?"
"Yes. We both have. She's going again Friday." I am? I didn't know that. I'll need to bring that up with her later.
"And is that going well…?" She's looking directly at me. Mom's not answering. I guess I have to.
"Yeah, I guess."
"Mrs. Tremaine, would you mind if I speak to Rose alone? It's just part of the protocol."
She nods, far too eagerly for my taste, and stands. She does squeeze my shoulder and tell me, quietly, "It's alright." And then she's gone.
Now it's my turn to be completely and utterly nervous. I lean forward, folding my hands on my legs.
Marrissa gives me a soft grin. "So, have you been okay?"
"Yeah. I like it."
"She mentioned your grandpa coming over—do you like that? Do you feel comfortable with that?"
I can't help but chuckle. "He wouldn't hurt me. We don't usually stay here anyway—he usually takes me to the park or something. He's also been catching me up in school and buying me books, which I really like. The other day, my Aunt May joined in and we went to see Beauty and the Beast. That was fun." And everything that a girl needs. I just hope Detective Olivia sees it that way.
"How're you doing with your schoolwork? Will you be ready to start regular school in the fall?"
"I hope so. I'm still behind, but Pop-Pop—my grandfather—he said that if I'm a little behind when it happens, that it's okay."
"He's right. You can make some friends. Have you been around any other kids your age?"
"Not really—not yet. I'm starting at this theatre program thing tomorrow—I'm auditioning for a musical—so I should be around some soon."
She nods. "Is there anything that you want to tell me while we're in private? Anything you think I should know?"
I know she probably wants for me to give her some heartfelt confession about how hard everything is, but I'm not going to give her one because it's not. Everything's fine. I shake my head.
She gives another nod. "Why don't you go get your mom and we'll wrap this up?"
Thank God. I jump up and go back into the bedroom. I point my finger in there. "She wants you."
She comes over. "Did it go okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
Quite frankly, I've never been as relieved as I am when Detective Olivia leaves. Eh. That's a lie. I've been a lot more relieved. But I've never been so relieved over something so trivial, we'll put it like that.
Mom seems to share my feelings, as she falls back onto the couch with a loud huff. "Well, I'm glad that's over."
"Is that even legal? I mean, can you just barge in on people?" I flop down next to her. "It just seems very law-breaking."
"She's a cop. She can do pretty much whatever she wants. Well, no, but she has rights to do this. They just have to check on the kids they deal with, just to make sure no funny stuff is happening."
"But it still just seems wrong." I scoot up a little, where I'm half-way onto her. "I don't like people invading my home."
She snorts and scuffles my hair. What am I? Some common canine? "Sweetheart, we technically invited her. I could've turned her away and she wouldn't have been able to come in, but that would have looked bad—we have nothing to hide."
"Except for Andalasia," I say with a smirk.
"Except for Andalasia, but that's just to make things easier for everyone. I don't think we need to show these people a little cartoon world."
"You seemed to handle it pretty well."
"Babe, the first thing I did was check to make sure my tits didn't pull a Barbie and lose the nipples—I don't think that counts as handling it well."
She has a point. Though, the mental image of her looking down her shirt to analyze the state of her boobs is pretty damn amusing. "Eh. People react differently."
"Yeah…" She pauses, then sits up a little straighter. "You didn't mention anything to me about auditioning. When did that happen?"
I stare at her, then mentally go over when I said that to the detective. Mom wasn't in the room. I laugh, a little. "You eavesdropper!" It's not a big deal. Actually, I'm kind of happy about it; she still could swoop in and shut Marrissa up if need be.
She bites her lip. "Sorry. I just—I didn't want to let it get out of hand—your seizures seem to be triggered by stress and that's—you don't need another one so soon—and—"
"Mom!" I say, rather loudly. "I was teasing. It's okay."
She shrugs. "Still…sorry…but what about this audition?"
"Yeah. I mean, Pop-Pop had brought it up—I haven't told him I decided on it—I need to do that—but…yeah. I'm auditioning. It's a musical called Mamma Mia. Aunt May's mentioned it, but I haven't heard anything from it yet. It'll be a nice surprise, I think. It'll be cool to perform, if I get in."
She looks a little baffled, with her mouth held tightly and her eyes focused on me. "Don't you think it would be smart to tell your Pop-Pop about this? I mean, I'm sure there has to be prior arrangements and—I'll just go ahead and text him." She grabs her cell, mashes the digital buttons, waits until the little beep, and then smiles. She puts the phone down, shaking her head. "He already has you signed up."
"What? How'd he…" I'm not going to lie, I'm a little bit creeped out by the mind-reading aspect of his reply. "I hadn't told him anything—"
"He said the look on your face after Beauty and the Beast said enough."
Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.
Her phone goes off again. "Your audition is at ten tomorrow. You need a song—have you given it any thought? Maybe something from Les Miserables? Frozen? You might want to practice a little."
In all honestly, I was just going to go with my gut—that's how Dad does things and it goes pretty well. But she might have a point. I shrug. "'Let It Go' is a pretty good song. I think I can hit the higher parts, or I hope I can."
"It'd work. Do you want to work on it a little? I mean, I don't know much about music, but I can listen or help you with the lyrics."
I grin a little. "Sure."
And so begins our quest for perfecting the song. Or not. Just making it sound somewhat worthy of a decent performance. Maybe. As it turns out, I don't know the lyrics as well as I thought I had. So I have to study them. Then we apparently need to find sheet music. We can't find that. I'm going to have to do it accapella. Crap. This—will this work without the music? I guess it's going to have to. Now I'm getting nervous. But Mom goes through it with me. After my first go through, with fully-fledged singing, she stays silent, even after I'm done. Now I'm really nervous. I watch her. She's not displaying much on her face. Finally, I ask, "Well? How does it sound?"
She snaps out of her little trance, smiling quite brightly. "I didn't know you could belt."
"Uh…what's that?"
"The big parts of the song. That's not something everyone can do. You sound very nice."
Now I'm relieved, releasing tension in my shoulders that I didn't quite realize I had been holding. "Thanks. I mean—I just tried to sound like the singer—I don't know what her name is."
"You really did. I mean, not exactly, but for a thirteen-year-old, you got really, really close. I'm pretty impressed. I think you'll do just fine with your audition."
Now I feel good about it. "Should I run through it a few more times…?"
"Yeah. Go ahead. I'm listening."
So I do. Once I'm on my fifth time, my vocal chords begin to tire, so I knock it off. Mom seems a little disappointed—I think she was enjoying hearing me scream out a Disney song. We eat and settle to watch more movies.
It's several hours later when I remember that I needed to talk to her. In all the commotion, I totally forgot about it. "Mom?"
"Yes?"
"What were you talking about with the therapist? I have to go back?"
She sighs. "I just think it would be a good idea. I mean, she helped you with that calming exercise, didn't she? Just—can you try it a few more times? Please?"
I can't help but huff. I don't like this, but I want to humor her, so I say, "Okay. I will."
She gives me a kiss on the top of the head. "Thank you, darling. I just think it would be good for you."
I hope so.
